With apologies and thanks to Joni Mitchell and Michel LeGrand…
“I’d like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so,
But she’s got the urge to going so I guess she’ll have to go…” –Joni Mitchell.
I walked through our small back yard yesterday and I felt the urge for going. The day lilies are of course long gone. The knock-out roses are finally bowing to the inevitable. My playpen of cleome, bronze fennel, autumn sedum, shiso, and spiderwort has hunkered down, hoping to be overlooked by the random angry gods of Winter.
“…summertime was falling down and Winter was closing in
Now the warriors of Winter…they gave a cold triumphant shout,
And all that stays is dying and all that lives is getting out.” –Mitchell.
I’ve bitterly raked the leaves from the birches next door. I’ve chopped the spent estival splendors. I’ve shut down the pond’s fountain/birdbath. The bewildered frogs have retreated to the sleepy, frigid depths. The myriad tadpoles are struggling to fathom their first frost and consider the question of mortality for the first time. They’ve got the urge for going, but don’t where to go. I have no assurances to offer them: it’s my first winter with pollywogs myself.
The hummingbirds have fled like the fickle, mesmerizing, gypsy, bouncing dots that they are. They’ve got the urge for going and they’re gone.
The trumpet-vine hedge is embarrassed by its nakedness; bare vines overreaching the sky annexed to become a Casbah-like warren for tiny wintering birds. The arrogant trumpet has got the urge for going but has roots…and responsibilities. Where would those tiny birds find their hygge?
“When the sun turns traitor cold
And all trees are shivering in a naked row,
I get the urge for going, but I never seem to go.” – Mitchell.
Why? I suppose I could.
Michel LeGrand offers an answer;
“Beneath the deepest snows the secret of the rose
Is merely that it knows you must believe in Spring.
So in a world of snow, of things that come and go,
Where what you think you know you can’t be certain of,
You must believe in Spring…
Last night, actually this morning, I awoke at 3:45. I crept out to the cold-compromised backyard, by the amphibian-befuddled pond. The sky was brilliant and clear. I shuffled back to bed and awakened Janie. She rolled out of bed and rolled into a blanket. We and our devoted star-gazing pup Chloe stood, huddled in the cold to see the lunar eclipse.
It was fine.
I suspect I will always have the urge to flee the dark and the cold, but I will never go.
I have a standing appointment with Spring…
2 thoughts on “The Urge for Going”
Well, that’s just beautiful, Roger!
Thank you, Sir!